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I was...

The person who harmed me was a...

I identify as...

My sexual orientation is...

I identify as...

I was...

When this occurred I also experienced...

Welcome to Our Wave.

This is a space where survivors of trauma and abuse share their stories alongside supportive allies. These stories remind us that hope exists even in dark times. You are never alone in your experience. Healing is possible for everyone.

What feels like the right place to start today?

You are wonderful, strong, and worthy. From one survivor to another.

Story
From a survivor
🇺🇸

He ripped the wings off of butterflies..

I was about 5/6 the first time it happened. I had no idea what was going on I just knew I felt weird.. deep in my stomach.. that gut wrenching feeling I would get before my parents would line us up for swats. It started with him being a little touchy and "accidently" walking in on me while I was showering/ changing then he got more and more handsy until finally he trapped me in the basement one day. He managed to pin me on the ground and lifted up my dress; before I knew it he had ripped my underwear and was touching me. It felt like an eternity had passed as I laid there motionless and crying, but a few minutes later he kissed my cheek, told me he was going to think about this later and that this was our little secret game as he helped me up; he was turned on with the biggest smile on his face. A few days later I was doing the laundry in the basement, bent over to pick up the clothes and drop them in the washer. He took this as a good opportunity to play "our secret game"; before I could do anything, I was pinned against the washer, he ripped my shorts and underwear down and next thing I knew he was fully inside me this time. I screamed out in pain as he jammed into me repeatedly so he covered my mouth.. I was so scared and confused. I felt the blood dripping down my legs and I was in so much pain I felt like I was going to be sick. Finally, after a few minutes it was over, and he let me go. I bent down to pull my shorts and underwear back up when I saw the blood on my legs. So many thoughts ran through my head, and I opened my mouth to say something, but I couldn't bring myself to make a sound. He used one of the towels I was about to wash to clean the blood off of himself then tossed it at me for my legs. He raised his hand to wipe the tears from my cheek and I flinched. "What's wrong? You don't like our little game?" I was so sore for a few days; hardly able to sit or walk. I struggled to get the blood stains out of my clothes. It felt like I was dreaming.. that I was going to wake up from this bull crap nightmare at any moment, but I never did. The soreness I felt after he was done with me went away with time, but I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact this was happening. Is this normal? Do other brother's and sister's do this? This continued for years; he would trap me in any places he could, and it felt like it took longer and longer each time. I decided at the age of 9/10 I had had enough and tried to tell my mother what my brother was doing to me. As bad of a mother as she was I thought she would still protect me when it came down to it, but I was soooo very wrong.. after all he was her favorite. The words she said to me will be forever engraved in my brain, "You can either let this ruin his life or you can move on. This doesn't seem like an issue you should let ruin your brother’s life." From that moment on I felt like it was my fault he was doing this so I kept my mouth shut in fear that no one else would believe me or that people would blame me if they did. He used this to his advantage and would play the game any chance he could even blackmailing me "I won't tell mom if you let me.." or he would take things from me like my homework and withhold them until I "played" and even then he would make me do extra things before he'd give it back. He pinned me down to the dining room table, hand gripping a chunk of my hair tight enough he pulled some out, covered my mouth so I couldn't scream for help and went so hard he bruised my hips.. I couldn't sit/ bend my body for a few days after that. Everywhere in that house was full of reminders that my body wasn't mine. It wasn't just forcing me to have sex either, he would force me to give him blow jobs/ hand jobs and randomly pin me against things and grope me just to prove he could any time he wanted. If my parents weren't home and we were watching something that had a sex scene in it (or if it wasn't on already he would put something on) he would openly touch himself to it in front of me.. it truly was a game for him. I would sit on the shower floor for hours with the water as hot as it would go, scrubbing my skin raw, but I never felt clean enough. No matter what I did or how hard I tried I couldn't wash him off of me.. I became so numb to it because it was happening at least weekly, but sometimes daily that I thought that was all I was good for was my body and what people could do to it. After a while I had opened up to my first girlfriend about it my freshman year of high school and started to feel like maybe I wasn't at fault. I never told anyone the full extent of what he had done and been doing to me because I felt dirty and ashamed for letting it happen to me. Talking about it, even just a little bit gave me some comfort though; no one could truly understand how I felt because they hadn't gone through it themselves, but them just listening and making me feel heard was comforting. Somehow it got out at school and CPS was called again (they had previously been called for physical abuse I endured from my parents; mostly my mother and they didn’t even bother to investigate when she gave me a black eye) along with my mother to the school. I thought it was weird, but made my way down.. when I rounded the corner, I could hear her voice, and I froze in my tracks. There's that feeling again.. Sure enough, when I walked through the front office doors I could see a group of people in the conference room; my principle, my counselor, the school phycologist I had been seeing for "sessions" like a therapist (although I never told her about this because she told my mother EVERYTHING) two CPS workers and my mother. As my gaze met with my mother’s I began to feel like my stomach was going to fall out of my butt at any moment and she just stared at me with those soulless eyes she always looked at me with. Of course, she remembered we were at the school, plastered on a big smile on and greeted me like I was her precious baby who she missed so much. "Do you know why we've called you down here?" I just sat there silently with tears rolling down my cheeks while the adults talked like I wasn't there. When it finally came out "what exactly did you say your brother has been doing to you?" all I could do was look at my mother, crying and saying, "I didn't say anything I promise!" I never said the rumors weren't true or that he never did anything I only ever said "I didn't say anything" and yet no one noticed they just saw a child crying hysterically, listened to my mother and blew it off that I was being dramatic and looking for attention. Somehow my father never found out about any of this and there was no further investigation, no examinations and no reports.. this was the SECOND time CPS failed me. He continued to do this to me until I got kicked out at 18 (or as my mother likes to say that I ran away) because instead of going back when she told me I could I stayed out. The first time I chose to have sex at the age of 16 I not only did it with someone I didn't love, but I had to get high to do it. When I got home, I sat on the floor of the shower, with it as hot as it would go and just sobbed while the water ran over my back. I thought it would be different if I wanted to do it, that I would like it, and it would make me feel better, but I hated it and mentally I couldn’t take it. I was self-harming in more ways than one and made several attempts on my life.. but any time I was with someone, or someone flirted with me I threw my body at them because I thought that's all I was good for and all anyone truly wanted. I was high most of the time, especially when I had sex, and I really didn’t care what happened to me anymore. Then I met my husband when I was 18.. the wonderful man that he is; we’ve been together 15 years, married for going on two and he’s healing something he didn’t break and makes me feel safe. There's a fire that burns within me that is fueled by so much anger.. I will forever be changed by what my brother did to me and for the lack of protection from someone who should have protected me, but chose to protect my abuser instead. I’ve spent years battling my own mind trying to stay here in spite of them; I still struggle with my self- harming in pretty much all the ways I used to along with other attempts on my life and constantly wanting to end it/ feeling like my boys deserve better than me. This is the first time I've ever fully told anyone about what he did.. not even my husband knows the full story because I didn't want to burden him with the weight of my pain. This pain has been weighing on my soul all my life and I just can't take it anymore; I'm drowning in it. I've blamed myself for so long and I feel so alone.. I feel like I'm damaged goods, like I'm broken. So, I've come here as a 30 something year old, with the encouragement and support of my therapist and my amazing husband to tell my story.. grammatical/ spelling errors and all. I wish to break the generational trauma for my son, so he never has to heal from his childhood and to heal from what’s left me broken; My boys deserve the best version of me. Even though it will probably never be seen by anyone but me, this is me taking back my power from him.. weather it ruins his life or not because he deserves to lay in the bed he made. I may never get justice for his actions and I'm not even really sure what that would look like for me, but I'm a survivor none the less. Thankfully I'm learning day by day that what he did to me wasn't my fault it was his (partly my mother’s for letting it continue) and that I deserved so much better. I didn't deserve any of this. I deserved a mother that believed me, loved me and protected me when I needed it. I deserve to heal, be loved and feel happiness. Most of all I deserved to be able to keep my innocence..

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  • “Healing means forgiving myself for all the things I may have gotten wrong in the moment.”

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Old memories haunting

    Yesterday, I was faced with something I had no idea it had the effect it did on me. I was face to face, in the same room with a man who I believe attempted to rape me 30 years ago. The work I do allowed for this meeting. No one intentionally set me up, it just happened. The universe was speaking to me and saying you are ready to move forward. As this man shows a picture of him and his wife at their wedding day nearly 30 years ago I recognize who he is immediately. I diverted my eyes, hoping he has recognized me. I held my breath. I repeated to myself, just breathe. I can feel his hand on my wrist pulling me as if it were yesterday. I was home alone, 16, he was married to my neighbor. They were on the brink of divorce. My parents left to go somewhere I don't quite recall. I hear a knock at the door. It's him. I'm not immediately on guard because he's never been a threat before. In fact, he's been quite friendly, but not the kind of friendly I would find weird or alarming as an adult. He asked if my parents were home. I step outside of the house and close the door and said, no, they aren't. I wondered why he couldn't determine that by looking at the drive way so I try and position myself in a safer spot because I cornered myself when I closed the door. He then opened the door and said, come here I want to show you something. I resist and said, no, what are you doing. He continued to pull on my right arm and wrist. I continue to resist. Then, aware my neighbors could probably hear if I yelled, "get the fuck off me", so I say it. Until this day and never since I haven't used my voice in times of trauma. I freeze. Every. Single. Time. But not this day, I forcibly said, "GET THE FUCK OFF ME". Our eyes met, his eyes got bigger and he let go and left. I never told anyone and never thought anything about it until yesterday when I recognized him. It was surprising to me how my body responded and felt every single feeling I felt that day. As I'm telling you this story, I can't help but feel proud of that 16 year old girl. Very proud of her. Our body keeps score and boy is that a very strange concept for me. What else have I forgotten that I have survived?!

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    #1758

    I don’t know where to begin but all these triggers come up so many And each one seems to lean back to the very first time that I can remember where my autonomy was taken from me I was 11. I can even remember what I was wearing. There was a man in his late 20s. He passed away last summer and I was glad that he wasn’t here anymore. I’m 47 now and it’s still bothers me just as much as it did back then and maybe it’s because I didn’t have support. I was in the backseat of the car and my two sisters were on either side of me. They were younger I’m the oldest my mom wasn’t in the car yet and the man he was drunk. He had a beer in his hand and he reached, he turned around and he he put his hand inside of me and I can remember it felt so heavy I couldn’t get it out. I had on white shorts a few minutes later my mom got in the car. I remember her sunglasses they’re so big. I always thought they were ugly to wear them all the time I called out Mama and she said what she didn’t even turn around to look and I think I said tell him to stop and she started to laugh and she looked at him and he looked at her and she said I hope you never get a boyfriend and they smiled at each other and he took his hand out. Although I was married for 30 years, which my mom introduced me to him when I was 14, I don’t believe I’ve ever been in a relationship not one where it was my choice. I’m 47 and I haven’t been in a Relationship. I suppose now it’s like nothing was ever my choice right so it’s almost like there’s a clean slate. And All these triggers like they go back to this one incident there’s so many other memories and so many other things that have happened to me honestly, there’s things that have happened to me that are worse but it’s like this one and I think it’s because I was only 11 and my mom was right there and shouldn’t help me And I became this person that would just figure it all out herself, but the thing is I can’t and I need help and I don’t even know how to accept it let alone get it and I’ve been going to therapy for over a year and this memory is just as active right now that as it was When I started going to therapy and it’s because I haven’t actually talked about it in therapy. The first therapist I had was an experienced and so I had to find a new therapist and although I’ve been to EMDR and we processed it all the way through where it felt like it wasn’t as intense and it still is, but it’s more than just what happened. There’s defined me. It literally made me who I became I got married when I was 17 and I didn’t wanna get married. My dad made me and I didn’t think I had a choice and I don’t even know why I got married Other than that. My whole life has been a series of what everybody else wanted or whatever everybody else was doing or needed or was pushing or forcing me to do not my choice And when I finally able to make my own choices, it’s like nothing is coming together in the way that I want it to because I’m afraid I’m so afraid that I’ll get hurt. This may be the first time that I have talked about this because I chose to.

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  • Community Message
    🇯🇵

    I'm a middle-aged woman with complex PTSD who I previously consulted with. (I've experienced abuse, religious abuse, isolation at school, power harassment, and sexual abuse.) I've spoken to my doctor about my sexual trauma. I've been suffering from severe hypervigilance and depression for some time, and have experienced hyperventilation and difficulty speaking three times during counseling sessions. When I spoke to my doctor, I was experiencing hyperventilation, body tremors, dissociative tendencies, dizziness, and barely able to speak. I'm feeling unwell, and even if I feel fine during the day, I get tired within a couple of hours. Even after resting and feeling better, I get tired in the evening and night, sometimes feeling energized and sometimes feeling anxious at night. Even when I take a day off from work, I get exhausted within four or five hours. I've taken a leave of absence and increased my medication, which has made it much easier to sleep. However, even with the maximum dose, I find it difficult to get into a sleeping position due to anxiety, and I sometimes wake up at 2 a.m. because I can't sleep due to anxiety and tears. Even though I'm calming my body and mind, I'm still suffering, wanting to die, and feeling hopeless, wondering how long this will last. I'm feeling depressed, thinking that this will be a long-term battle, perhaps even years, and that the effects of various traumas are so great that it must be quite serious.

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  • “You are not broken; you are not disgusting or unworthy; you are not unlovable; you are wonderful, strong, and worthy.”

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    assert your humanity!

    i had/have some healing to do. my worth was tied to my supposed purity, my body was used for male consumption and pleasure, my experience was minimized, my pain was ignored, my human emotions were neglected. so where do i even begin? i needed some honest conversations with god because i was fucking angry-- livid! and i was tired of people telling me some church cliches like that's gonna make me be like, “oh, you right, it was just a lil rape... god is good, all the time!” like, nah bruh, i was hurting and i had every right to be hurt. what happened is trash and someone telling me to find joy in my suffering is not helpful when i'm traumatized. what has helped me, is being able to acknowledge my feelings and write about them. it doesn’t mean the truth of who god is doesn’t exist, but it also doesn’t mean that you won’t feel forgotten, scared, frustrated angry, confused, and it doesn’t mean that as a christian, you’re required to immediately put a positive spin on your suffering. so, with that in heart and mind, i can write a poem about being objectified, about being pissed at the man that raped me, or about being confused about how my relationship with god is supposed to look after such a mess, ‘cause keeping my feelings hidden is not helpful and it does me no good. so, i’m telling you, black woman who is learning to shake off the damaging roles we were forced into: f politeness, you’re not wrong, you’re not being sinful -- kick, and scream and assert your humanity. survivor

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  • Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Healing to me is therapy and sharing my story

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  • “It’s always okay to reach out for help”

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    That Trip Abroad where Everything Changed

    It was a long time ago, over 20 years ago. This is my first-step towards healing. Over the years I told my mom and my husband about what happened, but given that I was the "fun" one in those days, some will say I brought it upon myself. Did I? I remember the school trip abroad. He looked at my with a twinkle in his eye on the departure flight- my heart sank. We would spend time together, a lot of time, as he just broke-up with his girlfriend. I remember the night so clearly; we were abroad dancing the night away in a club and then the energy changed- it was electric. We held hands running through the city squares to his room. I had never felt so happy before. We were alone, making out. I remember the light in the bathroom was an odd color green and then he was in me. NO! I never said Yes. I never said Yes. I never, ever said Yes. The next day the classmates knew what he did. There were nods of disapproval. Despite my extreme and vocal curiosity, I never said Yes and I couldn't say No. He took it from me. The next day there were signs and later on an infection. Yuck. My mom told me I would die from AIDS and this wore on my mental health for months. He is a laywer now, married with kids. I went through a memory box recently and he said he "Was not "that" guy" in a note exchange, but he was worse. He stripped my heart, my soul and my mental health. I was SO alone. I will never forget it, and I will make sure my daughters are self-aware of their worth and the rights to their body. I will be there for them and not ignore it.

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  • Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Healing was learning. I was not broken and I was worthy of love and somehow found the light at the end of a very dark tunnel....

    Dear reader, this message contains language of self-harm that some may find triggering or discomforting.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    #490

    I was a college junior at a conference associated with my major. I had been uncomfortable with a guy that was there but never thought anything like this would ever happen. We all went put for dinner and before dinner he had had a few shots. By the time we got to dinner it was clear that he was under the influence but I tried my best to keep a distance. We then as we always did went to location and took group photos in the photo booth. Here things started to change. It was here that he decided to grab my butt and slide his hand forward continuing to grab onto my private areas. I thought he just did it to me until I got back to my hotel room and learned he brushed someone else’s butt as well. It was in our hotel room we were invited to the guys room to hang out. I was nervous but thought I would be safe with others around. I was very wrong. In that hotel room things got even worse. He continued to push me over and was grabbing my breast in front of everyone. I was very uncomfortable and felt gross being in my own skin. I was embarrassed for anyone to know what had happened to me so I thought I would be ok as long as no one knows. Little did I know when I got back on campus that week everyone in our grade would know what happens. I was embarrassed going to class having to see him everyday. I finally told someone thinking everything would be ok then. While I had her support for a while he continued to threaten me and he ended up making himself out as the victim in the situation. I felt lost and confused with no recourse when I tried explaining what happened to me the people who were supposed to protect me at my school turned a blind eye to everything. I was stuck in class with him until I graduated this week having to have up close interactions with him. I was not supported by my school and was left alone and afraid to finish my education just wanting to leave and move on. The school of my dreams had become a nightmare.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇨🇱

    part of my story

    I don't know in which moment started. It was my father. I was a child. I was the favorite one between all of our brother and sisters. It was always subtle. The contact when I lay down on his bed, the slaps on the butt, or the comments that "you are so pretty that if I were your age and you weren't my daughter I would be with you.", added to the touch when I climbed onto his legs. It took me many years to understand that this, added to the fact that he did not see me as a normal father sees a daughter, hurt me tremendously. I felt like a trophy, like an extension of his body. I discovered that all this was abuse more than a year and a half ago. When I realized it in therapy I cried a lot. I felt very guilty about what happened, and even to this day I question whether I am not inventing everything, since everything is plausible and existed in reality, I just didn't want to see it as abuse. My older brother also abused my sisters and me, however, I have never been able to tell my family about my father. Seeing the pain they have felt with the news about my brother (relieved by one of my sisters), I see that it would only generate inconvenience and pain in my family. And being pragmatic, I couldn't achieve anything by revealing the news to my family other than complications. I know that if my sisters knew, they would want to talk to my father, and my father knowing would be able to stop paying my and my younger sister's alimony. And considering we're in college, it's something I can't afford. But I'm not going to lie, I feel disgusted every time I talk to him, I wish i would never have to talk to him.

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  • We believe in you. You are strong.

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    #806

    TW: CSA The beginning… It started when I was 11yo. My mom had left us after cheating on my dad with my best friend’s father. She just left me. I was so afraid and so alone. I cried every night. And one night he got tired of hearing it. I remember every moment until he was on top of me and then inside of me. Everything went dark. And then I woke up to the morning sun, my nightgown on the floor next to my underwear. My flower sheets wet and bloody. My brain did not understand what had happened. Only that I was alone and afraid. In just one night, I went from having a dad to being his fill in wife. I couldn’t understand what was happening but my life started falling to pieces. My mom tried to commit suicide. The visits at night became more frequent. My only solace was to go to school and then to my babysitter’s house. She had a grandson around my same age. I’d been going there since I was a baby so, in a way, we grew up together. But we grew and we developed and he suddenly became very curious and interested in knowing my body. From that point on, I knew my body would never belong to me… This is just the beginning of my story. Just scratching the surface. To be honest the older I got the worse the abuse got. No one ever stopped it but I did meet some angels who taught me love and goodness along the way. They are the little hope I cling to, but to be honest most days I feel incredibly alone and broken. Being a survivor of incest and CSA is complicated and painful, every moment of every day. I hope by sharing my story I can feel less alone and help someone else to feel less alone along the way.

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  • Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇧🇷

    HEALING MEANS FINDING GODS PURPOSE FOR MY LIFE AND HAVING FAITH IN HIM!

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  • Taking ‘time for yourself’ does not always mean spending the day at the spa. Mental health may also mean it is ok to set boundaries, to recognize your emotions, to prioritize sleep, to find peace in being still. I hope you take time for yourself today, in the way you need it most.

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇰🇪

    STILL HEALING🌹

    ...during the holidays, my mum would take me up-country to stay with my grandma. My grandma lived with my two older cousins(let's name them: T and K) who stayed there after their mum passed away years back. Near my grandmothers house was another homestead, which was also our relatives. I had older cousins from that side too, but only two were living there coz the others were working in urban cities in our country. I remember every evening, T and K would normally go fetch water by the river and they couldn't leave me behind coz i was young, and their responsibility and mostly my grandma had gone to the market...they took this opportunity to assault me, i remember i always refused and told them God would be mad coz deep down i felt it was wrong, but they brainwashed me, telling me God is pleased and that it's not wrong. They occasionally did it, even when we were in the house, they touched my private parts, forced me to touch theirs and do all sorts of disgusting things. When my grandma travelled and could not come over night, One would undress me and order me to lay with him...From the other homestead(let's name him: C),he was a drug addict, he normally called for me and when i persisted he came for me, he lured me with candy which was my favourite...When the holiday came to an end. i tried telling my mum that i didn't wanna go back to my grandma but she never understood and i feared telling her. From the first incident, i felt shame and helpless...i tried getting rid of the situation but it was always after me, I was too young...6 to 10 years old. The older i got the more i understood all that was going on...but i've been forever stuck, i have social stigma and hate men(slightly fear), i try to console myself and forget all that occurred but with defeat. I'm always ok until i remember and my world crumbles. I don't know how to heal or overcome but just act like it didn't happen coz after all what would they do after the know what happened??It's easy for me to overcome all things apart from this, and i don't know why...or it's because i still get to see them every time despite (eventually) the assault come to an end ?? I've really never spoken about it, this my first time and it's a way of healing...hopefully i do, by reading the other stories on this page

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  • “Healing to me means that all these things that happened don’t have to define me.”

    Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇩🇪

    Learning to love my own body again

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇬🇧

    It Ends With Me❤️

    After seeing 'It Ends With Us', I felt I wanted to share my story. I saw this movie alone for the first watch, brought my Atlas to the second, and my bestfriend to the third. Watching it left me feeling empowered to anonymously share my story of abuse and violence. The film and the book brought back so many raw emotions, ones that I still struggle with today. My story started when I was 16 years old and I was with my first 'love', everything was OK in the beginning - but suddenly everything changed. I was constantly told how worthless I was, I got pushed down his stairs - but I wouldn't leave - and I didn't know why. He was controlling and did not like other people talking to me, going to extreme lengths to stop this from happening, and making sure my friends did not see me - people who he saw as a threat. I ended up in the hospital because of him, where he broke my hand. He got that mad at me once, we were in his car and just before I could shut the door and put on my seat belt, he started driving recklessly to scare me. What scared me more was when I was sleeping and I felt his hands around my throat - with no explanation. There were many times that I would say stop and he would carry on because he told me he was in control. I had cigarettes put out on me -multiple times, and was told that I was disgusting and looked like a sl*t, even telling me I was 'fat' - which led to further health issues. When I ended up with a bruise, my friend who is now my Atlas noticed - we worked together. I confined in him, and he was the first person to properly listen to me, and let me share my experiences. Throughout all this, it brought me overwhelming anxiety and depression and even the lengths of having to have therapy because to me it was a nightmare even when it was over, and reported multiple times. My parents never understood, asking me why I didn't just leave, telling me I must've wanted it to carry on. I didn't. I'm nearly 10 years later now, with my Atlas of 5 years, feeling happier and in a better place physically and mentally - I'm still healing. This movie brought me to tears and I related so much to Lily Bloom - some of it felt like my experiences - but the film also brought me a type of feeling of freedom and happiness. Thank you for letting me share my story. ❤️

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  • Healing is not linear. It is different for everyone. It is important that we stay patient with ourselves when setbacks occur in our process. Forgive yourself for everything that may go wrong along the way.

    Welcome to Our Wave.

    This is a space where survivors of trauma and abuse share their stories alongside supportive allies. These stories remind us that hope exists even in dark times. You are never alone in your experience. Healing is possible for everyone.

    What feels like the right place to start today?
    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    assert your humanity!

    i had/have some healing to do. my worth was tied to my supposed purity, my body was used for male consumption and pleasure, my experience was minimized, my pain was ignored, my human emotions were neglected. so where do i even begin? i needed some honest conversations with god because i was fucking angry-- livid! and i was tired of people telling me some church cliches like that's gonna make me be like, “oh, you right, it was just a lil rape... god is good, all the time!” like, nah bruh, i was hurting and i had every right to be hurt. what happened is trash and someone telling me to find joy in my suffering is not helpful when i'm traumatized. what has helped me, is being able to acknowledge my feelings and write about them. it doesn’t mean the truth of who god is doesn’t exist, but it also doesn’t mean that you won’t feel forgotten, scared, frustrated angry, confused, and it doesn’t mean that as a christian, you’re required to immediately put a positive spin on your suffering. so, with that in heart and mind, i can write a poem about being objectified, about being pissed at the man that raped me, or about being confused about how my relationship with god is supposed to look after such a mess, ‘cause keeping my feelings hidden is not helpful and it does me no good. so, i’m telling you, black woman who is learning to shake off the damaging roles we were forced into: f politeness, you’re not wrong, you’re not being sinful -- kick, and scream and assert your humanity. survivor

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  • Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Healing was learning. I was not broken and I was worthy of love and somehow found the light at the end of a very dark tunnel....

    Dear reader, this message contains language of self-harm that some may find triggering or discomforting.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇨🇱

    part of my story

    I don't know in which moment started. It was my father. I was a child. I was the favorite one between all of our brother and sisters. It was always subtle. The contact when I lay down on his bed, the slaps on the butt, or the comments that "you are so pretty that if I were your age and you weren't my daughter I would be with you.", added to the touch when I climbed onto his legs. It took me many years to understand that this, added to the fact that he did not see me as a normal father sees a daughter, hurt me tremendously. I felt like a trophy, like an extension of his body. I discovered that all this was abuse more than a year and a half ago. When I realized it in therapy I cried a lot. I felt very guilty about what happened, and even to this day I question whether I am not inventing everything, since everything is plausible and existed in reality, I just didn't want to see it as abuse. My older brother also abused my sisters and me, however, I have never been able to tell my family about my father. Seeing the pain they have felt with the news about my brother (relieved by one of my sisters), I see that it would only generate inconvenience and pain in my family. And being pragmatic, I couldn't achieve anything by revealing the news to my family other than complications. I know that if my sisters knew, they would want to talk to my father, and my father knowing would be able to stop paying my and my younger sister's alimony. And considering we're in college, it's something I can't afford. But I'm not going to lie, I feel disgusted every time I talk to him, I wish i would never have to talk to him.

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  • Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇧🇷

    HEALING MEANS FINDING GODS PURPOSE FOR MY LIFE AND HAVING FAITH IN HIM!

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇬🇧

    It Ends With Me❤️

    After seeing 'It Ends With Us', I felt I wanted to share my story. I saw this movie alone for the first watch, brought my Atlas to the second, and my bestfriend to the third. Watching it left me feeling empowered to anonymously share my story of abuse and violence. The film and the book brought back so many raw emotions, ones that I still struggle with today. My story started when I was 16 years old and I was with my first 'love', everything was OK in the beginning - but suddenly everything changed. I was constantly told how worthless I was, I got pushed down his stairs - but I wouldn't leave - and I didn't know why. He was controlling and did not like other people talking to me, going to extreme lengths to stop this from happening, and making sure my friends did not see me - people who he saw as a threat. I ended up in the hospital because of him, where he broke my hand. He got that mad at me once, we were in his car and just before I could shut the door and put on my seat belt, he started driving recklessly to scare me. What scared me more was when I was sleeping and I felt his hands around my throat - with no explanation. There were many times that I would say stop and he would carry on because he told me he was in control. I had cigarettes put out on me -multiple times, and was told that I was disgusting and looked like a sl*t, even telling me I was 'fat' - which led to further health issues. When I ended up with a bruise, my friend who is now my Atlas noticed - we worked together. I confined in him, and he was the first person to properly listen to me, and let me share my experiences. Throughout all this, it brought me overwhelming anxiety and depression and even the lengths of having to have therapy because to me it was a nightmare even when it was over, and reported multiple times. My parents never understood, asking me why I didn't just leave, telling me I must've wanted it to carry on. I didn't. I'm nearly 10 years later now, with my Atlas of 5 years, feeling happier and in a better place physically and mentally - I'm still healing. This movie brought me to tears and I related so much to Lily Bloom - some of it felt like my experiences - but the film also brought me a type of feeling of freedom and happiness. Thank you for letting me share my story. ❤️

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  • You are wonderful, strong, and worthy. From one survivor to another.

    “Healing means forgiving myself for all the things I may have gotten wrong in the moment.”

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    #1758

    I don’t know where to begin but all these triggers come up so many And each one seems to lean back to the very first time that I can remember where my autonomy was taken from me I was 11. I can even remember what I was wearing. There was a man in his late 20s. He passed away last summer and I was glad that he wasn’t here anymore. I’m 47 now and it’s still bothers me just as much as it did back then and maybe it’s because I didn’t have support. I was in the backseat of the car and my two sisters were on either side of me. They were younger I’m the oldest my mom wasn’t in the car yet and the man he was drunk. He had a beer in his hand and he reached, he turned around and he he put his hand inside of me and I can remember it felt so heavy I couldn’t get it out. I had on white shorts a few minutes later my mom got in the car. I remember her sunglasses they’re so big. I always thought they were ugly to wear them all the time I called out Mama and she said what she didn’t even turn around to look and I think I said tell him to stop and she started to laugh and she looked at him and he looked at her and she said I hope you never get a boyfriend and they smiled at each other and he took his hand out. Although I was married for 30 years, which my mom introduced me to him when I was 14, I don’t believe I’ve ever been in a relationship not one where it was my choice. I’m 47 and I haven’t been in a Relationship. I suppose now it’s like nothing was ever my choice right so it’s almost like there’s a clean slate. And All these triggers like they go back to this one incident there’s so many other memories and so many other things that have happened to me honestly, there’s things that have happened to me that are worse but it’s like this one and I think it’s because I was only 11 and my mom was right there and shouldn’t help me And I became this person that would just figure it all out herself, but the thing is I can’t and I need help and I don’t even know how to accept it let alone get it and I’ve been going to therapy for over a year and this memory is just as active right now that as it was When I started going to therapy and it’s because I haven’t actually talked about it in therapy. The first therapist I had was an experienced and so I had to find a new therapist and although I’ve been to EMDR and we processed it all the way through where it felt like it wasn’t as intense and it still is, but it’s more than just what happened. There’s defined me. It literally made me who I became I got married when I was 17 and I didn’t wanna get married. My dad made me and I didn’t think I had a choice and I don’t even know why I got married Other than that. My whole life has been a series of what everybody else wanted or whatever everybody else was doing or needed or was pushing or forcing me to do not my choice And when I finally able to make my own choices, it’s like nothing is coming together in the way that I want it to because I’m afraid I’m so afraid that I’ll get hurt. This may be the first time that I have talked about this because I chose to.

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  • “You are not broken; you are not disgusting or unworthy; you are not unlovable; you are wonderful, strong, and worthy.”

    Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Healing to me is therapy and sharing my story

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  • “It’s always okay to reach out for help”

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    #490

    I was a college junior at a conference associated with my major. I had been uncomfortable with a guy that was there but never thought anything like this would ever happen. We all went put for dinner and before dinner he had had a few shots. By the time we got to dinner it was clear that he was under the influence but I tried my best to keep a distance. We then as we always did went to location and took group photos in the photo booth. Here things started to change. It was here that he decided to grab my butt and slide his hand forward continuing to grab onto my private areas. I thought he just did it to me until I got back to my hotel room and learned he brushed someone else’s butt as well. It was in our hotel room we were invited to the guys room to hang out. I was nervous but thought I would be safe with others around. I was very wrong. In that hotel room things got even worse. He continued to push me over and was grabbing my breast in front of everyone. I was very uncomfortable and felt gross being in my own skin. I was embarrassed for anyone to know what had happened to me so I thought I would be ok as long as no one knows. Little did I know when I got back on campus that week everyone in our grade would know what happens. I was embarrassed going to class having to see him everyday. I finally told someone thinking everything would be ok then. While I had her support for a while he continued to threaten me and he ended up making himself out as the victim in the situation. I felt lost and confused with no recourse when I tried explaining what happened to me the people who were supposed to protect me at my school turned a blind eye to everything. I was stuck in class with him until I graduated this week having to have up close interactions with him. I was not supported by my school and was left alone and afraid to finish my education just wanting to leave and move on. The school of my dreams had become a nightmare.

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  • We believe in you. You are strong.

    Taking ‘time for yourself’ does not always mean spending the day at the spa. Mental health may also mean it is ok to set boundaries, to recognize your emotions, to prioritize sleep, to find peace in being still. I hope you take time for yourself today, in the way you need it most.

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇰🇪

    STILL HEALING🌹

    ...during the holidays, my mum would take me up-country to stay with my grandma. My grandma lived with my two older cousins(let's name them: T and K) who stayed there after their mum passed away years back. Near my grandmothers house was another homestead, which was also our relatives. I had older cousins from that side too, but only two were living there coz the others were working in urban cities in our country. I remember every evening, T and K would normally go fetch water by the river and they couldn't leave me behind coz i was young, and their responsibility and mostly my grandma had gone to the market...they took this opportunity to assault me, i remember i always refused and told them God would be mad coz deep down i felt it was wrong, but they brainwashed me, telling me God is pleased and that it's not wrong. They occasionally did it, even when we were in the house, they touched my private parts, forced me to touch theirs and do all sorts of disgusting things. When my grandma travelled and could not come over night, One would undress me and order me to lay with him...From the other homestead(let's name him: C),he was a drug addict, he normally called for me and when i persisted he came for me, he lured me with candy which was my favourite...When the holiday came to an end. i tried telling my mum that i didn't wanna go back to my grandma but she never understood and i feared telling her. From the first incident, i felt shame and helpless...i tried getting rid of the situation but it was always after me, I was too young...6 to 10 years old. The older i got the more i understood all that was going on...but i've been forever stuck, i have social stigma and hate men(slightly fear), i try to console myself and forget all that occurred but with defeat. I'm always ok until i remember and my world crumbles. I don't know how to heal or overcome but just act like it didn't happen coz after all what would they do after the know what happened??It's easy for me to overcome all things apart from this, and i don't know why...or it's because i still get to see them every time despite (eventually) the assault come to an end ?? I've really never spoken about it, this my first time and it's a way of healing...hopefully i do, by reading the other stories on this page

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  • “Healing to me means that all these things that happened don’t have to define me.”

    Healing is not linear. It is different for everyone. It is important that we stay patient with ourselves when setbacks occur in our process. Forgive yourself for everything that may go wrong along the way.

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    He ripped the wings off of butterflies..

    I was about 5/6 the first time it happened. I had no idea what was going on I just knew I felt weird.. deep in my stomach.. that gut wrenching feeling I would get before my parents would line us up for swats. It started with him being a little touchy and "accidently" walking in on me while I was showering/ changing then he got more and more handsy until finally he trapped me in the basement one day. He managed to pin me on the ground and lifted up my dress; before I knew it he had ripped my underwear and was touching me. It felt like an eternity had passed as I laid there motionless and crying, but a few minutes later he kissed my cheek, told me he was going to think about this later and that this was our little secret game as he helped me up; he was turned on with the biggest smile on his face. A few days later I was doing the laundry in the basement, bent over to pick up the clothes and drop them in the washer. He took this as a good opportunity to play "our secret game"; before I could do anything, I was pinned against the washer, he ripped my shorts and underwear down and next thing I knew he was fully inside me this time. I screamed out in pain as he jammed into me repeatedly so he covered my mouth.. I was so scared and confused. I felt the blood dripping down my legs and I was in so much pain I felt like I was going to be sick. Finally, after a few minutes it was over, and he let me go. I bent down to pull my shorts and underwear back up when I saw the blood on my legs. So many thoughts ran through my head, and I opened my mouth to say something, but I couldn't bring myself to make a sound. He used one of the towels I was about to wash to clean the blood off of himself then tossed it at me for my legs. He raised his hand to wipe the tears from my cheek and I flinched. "What's wrong? You don't like our little game?" I was so sore for a few days; hardly able to sit or walk. I struggled to get the blood stains out of my clothes. It felt like I was dreaming.. that I was going to wake up from this bull crap nightmare at any moment, but I never did. The soreness I felt after he was done with me went away with time, but I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact this was happening. Is this normal? Do other brother's and sister's do this? This continued for years; he would trap me in any places he could, and it felt like it took longer and longer each time. I decided at the age of 9/10 I had had enough and tried to tell my mother what my brother was doing to me. As bad of a mother as she was I thought she would still protect me when it came down to it, but I was soooo very wrong.. after all he was her favorite. The words she said to me will be forever engraved in my brain, "You can either let this ruin his life or you can move on. This doesn't seem like an issue you should let ruin your brother’s life." From that moment on I felt like it was my fault he was doing this so I kept my mouth shut in fear that no one else would believe me or that people would blame me if they did. He used this to his advantage and would play the game any chance he could even blackmailing me "I won't tell mom if you let me.." or he would take things from me like my homework and withhold them until I "played" and even then he would make me do extra things before he'd give it back. He pinned me down to the dining room table, hand gripping a chunk of my hair tight enough he pulled some out, covered my mouth so I couldn't scream for help and went so hard he bruised my hips.. I couldn't sit/ bend my body for a few days after that. Everywhere in that house was full of reminders that my body wasn't mine. It wasn't just forcing me to have sex either, he would force me to give him blow jobs/ hand jobs and randomly pin me against things and grope me just to prove he could any time he wanted. If my parents weren't home and we were watching something that had a sex scene in it (or if it wasn't on already he would put something on) he would openly touch himself to it in front of me.. it truly was a game for him. I would sit on the shower floor for hours with the water as hot as it would go, scrubbing my skin raw, but I never felt clean enough. No matter what I did or how hard I tried I couldn't wash him off of me.. I became so numb to it because it was happening at least weekly, but sometimes daily that I thought that was all I was good for was my body and what people could do to it. After a while I had opened up to my first girlfriend about it my freshman year of high school and started to feel like maybe I wasn't at fault. I never told anyone the full extent of what he had done and been doing to me because I felt dirty and ashamed for letting it happen to me. Talking about it, even just a little bit gave me some comfort though; no one could truly understand how I felt because they hadn't gone through it themselves, but them just listening and making me feel heard was comforting. Somehow it got out at school and CPS was called again (they had previously been called for physical abuse I endured from my parents; mostly my mother and they didn’t even bother to investigate when she gave me a black eye) along with my mother to the school. I thought it was weird, but made my way down.. when I rounded the corner, I could hear her voice, and I froze in my tracks. There's that feeling again.. Sure enough, when I walked through the front office doors I could see a group of people in the conference room; my principle, my counselor, the school phycologist I had been seeing for "sessions" like a therapist (although I never told her about this because she told my mother EVERYTHING) two CPS workers and my mother. As my gaze met with my mother’s I began to feel like my stomach was going to fall out of my butt at any moment and she just stared at me with those soulless eyes she always looked at me with. Of course, she remembered we were at the school, plastered on a big smile on and greeted me like I was her precious baby who she missed so much. "Do you know why we've called you down here?" I just sat there silently with tears rolling down my cheeks while the adults talked like I wasn't there. When it finally came out "what exactly did you say your brother has been doing to you?" all I could do was look at my mother, crying and saying, "I didn't say anything I promise!" I never said the rumors weren't true or that he never did anything I only ever said "I didn't say anything" and yet no one noticed they just saw a child crying hysterically, listened to my mother and blew it off that I was being dramatic and looking for attention. Somehow my father never found out about any of this and there was no further investigation, no examinations and no reports.. this was the SECOND time CPS failed me. He continued to do this to me until I got kicked out at 18 (or as my mother likes to say that I ran away) because instead of going back when she told me I could I stayed out. The first time I chose to have sex at the age of 16 I not only did it with someone I didn't love, but I had to get high to do it. When I got home, I sat on the floor of the shower, with it as hot as it would go and just sobbed while the water ran over my back. I thought it would be different if I wanted to do it, that I would like it, and it would make me feel better, but I hated it and mentally I couldn’t take it. I was self-harming in more ways than one and made several attempts on my life.. but any time I was with someone, or someone flirted with me I threw my body at them because I thought that's all I was good for and all anyone truly wanted. I was high most of the time, especially when I had sex, and I really didn’t care what happened to me anymore. Then I met my husband when I was 18.. the wonderful man that he is; we’ve been together 15 years, married for going on two and he’s healing something he didn’t break and makes me feel safe. There's a fire that burns within me that is fueled by so much anger.. I will forever be changed by what my brother did to me and for the lack of protection from someone who should have protected me, but chose to protect my abuser instead. I’ve spent years battling my own mind trying to stay here in spite of them; I still struggle with my self- harming in pretty much all the ways I used to along with other attempts on my life and constantly wanting to end it/ feeling like my boys deserve better than me. This is the first time I've ever fully told anyone about what he did.. not even my husband knows the full story because I didn't want to burden him with the weight of my pain. This pain has been weighing on my soul all my life and I just can't take it anymore; I'm drowning in it. I've blamed myself for so long and I feel so alone.. I feel like I'm damaged goods, like I'm broken. So, I've come here as a 30 something year old, with the encouragement and support of my therapist and my amazing husband to tell my story.. grammatical/ spelling errors and all. I wish to break the generational trauma for my son, so he never has to heal from his childhood and to heal from what’s left me broken; My boys deserve the best version of me. Even though it will probably never be seen by anyone but me, this is me taking back my power from him.. weather it ruins his life or not because he deserves to lay in the bed he made. I may never get justice for his actions and I'm not even really sure what that would look like for me, but I'm a survivor none the less. Thankfully I'm learning day by day that what he did to me wasn't my fault it was his (partly my mother’s for letting it continue) and that I deserved so much better. I didn't deserve any of this. I deserved a mother that believed me, loved me and protected me when I needed it. I deserve to heal, be loved and feel happiness. Most of all I deserved to be able to keep my innocence..

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Old memories haunting

    Yesterday, I was faced with something I had no idea it had the effect it did on me. I was face to face, in the same room with a man who I believe attempted to rape me 30 years ago. The work I do allowed for this meeting. No one intentionally set me up, it just happened. The universe was speaking to me and saying you are ready to move forward. As this man shows a picture of him and his wife at their wedding day nearly 30 years ago I recognize who he is immediately. I diverted my eyes, hoping he has recognized me. I held my breath. I repeated to myself, just breathe. I can feel his hand on my wrist pulling me as if it were yesterday. I was home alone, 16, he was married to my neighbor. They were on the brink of divorce. My parents left to go somewhere I don't quite recall. I hear a knock at the door. It's him. I'm not immediately on guard because he's never been a threat before. In fact, he's been quite friendly, but not the kind of friendly I would find weird or alarming as an adult. He asked if my parents were home. I step outside of the house and close the door and said, no, they aren't. I wondered why he couldn't determine that by looking at the drive way so I try and position myself in a safer spot because I cornered myself when I closed the door. He then opened the door and said, come here I want to show you something. I resist and said, no, what are you doing. He continued to pull on my right arm and wrist. I continue to resist. Then, aware my neighbors could probably hear if I yelled, "get the fuck off me", so I say it. Until this day and never since I haven't used my voice in times of trauma. I freeze. Every. Single. Time. But not this day, I forcibly said, "GET THE FUCK OFF ME". Our eyes met, his eyes got bigger and he let go and left. I never told anyone and never thought anything about it until yesterday when I recognized him. It was surprising to me how my body responded and felt every single feeling I felt that day. As I'm telling you this story, I can't help but feel proud of that 16 year old girl. Very proud of her. Our body keeps score and boy is that a very strange concept for me. What else have I forgotten that I have survived?!

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  • Community Message
    🇯🇵

    I'm a middle-aged woman with complex PTSD who I previously consulted with. (I've experienced abuse, religious abuse, isolation at school, power harassment, and sexual abuse.) I've spoken to my doctor about my sexual trauma. I've been suffering from severe hypervigilance and depression for some time, and have experienced hyperventilation and difficulty speaking three times during counseling sessions. When I spoke to my doctor, I was experiencing hyperventilation, body tremors, dissociative tendencies, dizziness, and barely able to speak. I'm feeling unwell, and even if I feel fine during the day, I get tired within a couple of hours. Even after resting and feeling better, I get tired in the evening and night, sometimes feeling energized and sometimes feeling anxious at night. Even when I take a day off from work, I get exhausted within four or five hours. I've taken a leave of absence and increased my medication, which has made it much easier to sleep. However, even with the maximum dose, I find it difficult to get into a sleeping position due to anxiety, and I sometimes wake up at 2 a.m. because I can't sleep due to anxiety and tears. Even though I'm calming my body and mind, I'm still suffering, wanting to die, and feeling hopeless, wondering how long this will last. I'm feeling depressed, thinking that this will be a long-term battle, perhaps even years, and that the effects of various traumas are so great that it must be quite serious.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    That Trip Abroad where Everything Changed

    It was a long time ago, over 20 years ago. This is my first-step towards healing. Over the years I told my mom and my husband about what happened, but given that I was the "fun" one in those days, some will say I brought it upon myself. Did I? I remember the school trip abroad. He looked at my with a twinkle in his eye on the departure flight- my heart sank. We would spend time together, a lot of time, as he just broke-up with his girlfriend. I remember the night so clearly; we were abroad dancing the night away in a club and then the energy changed- it was electric. We held hands running through the city squares to his room. I had never felt so happy before. We were alone, making out. I remember the light in the bathroom was an odd color green and then he was in me. NO! I never said Yes. I never said Yes. I never, ever said Yes. The next day the classmates knew what he did. There were nods of disapproval. Despite my extreme and vocal curiosity, I never said Yes and I couldn't say No. He took it from me. The next day there were signs and later on an infection. Yuck. My mom told me I would die from AIDS and this wore on my mental health for months. He is a laywer now, married with kids. I went through a memory box recently and he said he "Was not "that" guy" in a note exchange, but he was worse. He stripped my heart, my soul and my mental health. I was SO alone. I will never forget it, and I will make sure my daughters are self-aware of their worth and the rights to their body. I will be there for them and not ignore it.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    #806

    TW: CSA The beginning… It started when I was 11yo. My mom had left us after cheating on my dad with my best friend’s father. She just left me. I was so afraid and so alone. I cried every night. And one night he got tired of hearing it. I remember every moment until he was on top of me and then inside of me. Everything went dark. And then I woke up to the morning sun, my nightgown on the floor next to my underwear. My flower sheets wet and bloody. My brain did not understand what had happened. Only that I was alone and afraid. In just one night, I went from having a dad to being his fill in wife. I couldn’t understand what was happening but my life started falling to pieces. My mom tried to commit suicide. The visits at night became more frequent. My only solace was to go to school and then to my babysitter’s house. She had a grandson around my same age. I’d been going there since I was a baby so, in a way, we grew up together. But we grew and we developed and he suddenly became very curious and interested in knowing my body. From that point on, I knew my body would never belong to me… This is just the beginning of my story. Just scratching the surface. To be honest the older I got the worse the abuse got. No one ever stopped it but I did meet some angels who taught me love and goodness along the way. They are the little hope I cling to, but to be honest most days I feel incredibly alone and broken. Being a survivor of incest and CSA is complicated and painful, every moment of every day. I hope by sharing my story I can feel less alone and help someone else to feel less alone along the way.

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  • Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇩🇪

    Learning to love my own body again

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    Grounding activity

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    1 – thing you like about yourself.

    Take a deep breath to end.

    From where you are sitting, look around for things that have a texture or are nice or interesting to look at.

    Hold an object in your hand and bring your full focus to it. Look at where shadows fall on parts of it or maybe where there are shapes that form within the object. Feel how heavy or light it is in your hand and what the surface texture feels like under your fingers (This can also be done with a pet if you have one).

    Take a deep breath to end.

    Ask yourself the following questions and answer them out loud:

    1. Where am I?

    2. What day of the week is today?

    3. What is today’s date?

    4. What is the current month?

    5. What is the current year?

    6. How old am I?

    7. What season is it?

    Take a deep breath to end.

    Put your right hand palm down on your left shoulder. Put your left hand palm down on your right shoulder. Choose a sentence that will strengthen you. For example: “I am powerful.” Say the sentence out loud first and pat your right hand on your left shoulder, then your left hand on your right shoulder.

    Alternate the patting. Do ten pats altogether, five on each side, each time repeating your sentences aloud.

    Take a deep breath to end.

    Cross your arms in front of you and draw them towards your chest. With your right hand, hold your left upper arm. With your left hand, hold your right upper arm. Squeeze gently, and pull your arms inwards. Hold the squeeze for a little while, finding the right amount of squeeze for you in this moment. Hold the tension and release. Then squeeze for a little while again and release. Stay like that for a moment.

    Take a deep breath to end.